


cohabitation

by flirtingwithtrackers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Roommates, Unresolved Sexual Tension, okay and some resolved sexual tension??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 13,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clarke shares an apartment with the blake siblings and clarke and bellamy dance around one another, <i>naturally</i></p><p>a few snapshots of these nerds living together based on drabble prompts sent in on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. "come over here and make me"

**Author's Note:**

> so i had alot of fun writing for some of these [prompts](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com/cohabitation)!  
> (numbers in the chapter titles correspond to the number of the prompt on this list!!)
> 
> they're all p short drabbles and do not go in any particular order chronologically, though they are all in the same universe
> 
> hope you enjoy :))))
> 
> also i will put warnings at the beginning of drabbles that are smutty and/or have smutty undertones

Bellamy’s been lounging on the couch watching the History Channel all day. He likes to relax on the few days he has off and doesn’t have to spend long hours at the precinct. About 3 documentaries in, he hears the front door open and a blonde mess in blue scrubs comes barging in.

Clarke treks into her room, which is settled between his and Octavia’s. A few minutes later, she comes out in a tank top and some sweat pants. Her blonde curls are twisted up in a messy bun, some strands sticking out behind her head. She plops down onto the couch on the other side of Bellamy, grabbing the remote before he even notices her arm reaching over him.

She changes the channel to some home renovation show before burrowing into the soft cushions underneath her. Bellamy leans over, pressing a button on the remote that makes his documentary on The Origin of Democracy leap back onto the screen. 

Clarke scrambles for the remote, clicking the buttons on accident, rapidly flipping through the channels. Bellamy tries to grab it back from her in vain. Clarke puts her show back on before flashing Bellamy a smug smile.

Bellamy groans before getting up, walking over to the tv, and manually flipping through the channels. By the time he sits back down, her show is back on, not that he really expecting anything else.

"Would you stop it?!" he all but yells over at her.

Clarke looks at him, eyes wide before she recollects herself. She looks him straight in the eye, a smirk on her face, “Why don’t you  **come over here and make me**?”

Her eyes glint mischievously at him and Bellamy can’t help but smile. He whispers a  _fine_  before launching himself at her, his hands tickling down her sides, causing her to squirm underneath him. Loud laughs and cries escape her mouth as she tries to wiggle away from him.

She’s almost crying in laughter when Bellamy finally stops, making a point of grabbing the remote before going back over to his side of the couch, a smile still in place on his face.

"Cheater," she throws a pillow at him. He just chuckles in response, switching back to his documentary.

When it’s over, he passes her the remote, “We can take turns.” A peace offering.


	2. 46. "hey, have you seen the..? /oh/."

Clarke’s been searching for the tv remote for about 15 minutes, lifting all the couch cushions, looking underneath all the furniture. She’s pretty sure it’s not in the living room and she really wants to catch up on her favorite tv show before the newest episode tomorrow.

She walks into Octavia’s room to find it empty. Clarke does a quick search of all the surfaces in the room before barreling towards Bellamy’s room at the other end of the hall.

” **Hey, have you seen the..? _Oh_.** " 

Bellamy’s door had been open a few inches, so Clarke saw no problem with pushing it further open. Unfortunately, she had not anticipated walking in on a very naked Bellamy, only a towel draped low across his hips. Bellamy looks up in surprise, but smirks immediately after seeing who it is.

Clarke’s face is probably a bright pink now, taking in the wet, hard lines of Bellamy’s chest. His dark curls are dripping, the water rolling down his neck and shoulders onto his chest and soaking into the towel at his waist. It takes her a few moments to snap her head back up to see the smug expression on Bellamy’s face.

"You were looking for something?" Bellamy smirk widens as Clarke scrambles to remember what she came in here for.

"Ri-right. Uh, have you seen the remote?" Her eyes dart about the room, as if she’s looking for it and not just trying to look everywhere  _but_ at him.

"It’s on the kitchen counter. I think Octavia left it there."

"Oh, right, thanks." With that, Clarke turns around and walks out of the room as fast as she can without running, making sure to close the door behind her.

Bellamy chuckles at her hasty retreat and mentally thanks his sister for suggesting the three of them live together.


	3. 35. “you heard me. take. it. off.”

Bellamy comes homes pretty late from the precinct one night to music filling the apartment. He walks down the hallway and looks at the girl’s doors, trying to figure out who he’s going to have to yell at so he can finally get some sleep. The light underneath Clarke’s door is on so he knocks loudly so she can hear him over the music—they’ve had some incidents with barging in that he’d rather not relive.

When he gently pushes the door open after no one answers, Clarke is sitting at her desk, her head bobbing to the music and her fingers tapping away at her keyboard. She turns around when she hears Bellamy clear his throat.

"Oh, hey, sorry, I’m just trying to knock out this essay. I’ll put my headphones in," she smiles easily at him. 

He wants to smile, say goodnight, and walk away, glad he didn’t have to fight her on this. But she’s wearing his Princeton sweatshirt. The one she told Bellamy she hasn’t seen in the  _weeks_  that he’s been looking for it.

"What are you wearing?" Bellamy tries not to growl.

Clarke quickly looks down at her sweater before her cheeks redden.

"It’s not what it looks like," she begins before Bellamy stalks towards her.

"Give it to me," his hand raises in between them expectantly, palm up.

"But it’s so warm and comfy. I’ll wash it and give it to you later," Clarke tries to placate him, a small anxious smile on her face.

"Clarke, now. Take it off."

"What? You can’t be serious!"  _He can’t be serious._

"Clarke.  **You heard me. Take. It. Off.** " Bellamy is basically seething and Clarke wants to burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of this situation but she’s pretty sure his head may just explode if she did.

"Fine," Clarke pulls the sweater off over her head, throwing it at Bellamy. She’s left standing in her small black bralette and resists the urge to cross her arms over her chest and instead raises her eyebrow. "Happy?"

Bellamy’s staring at her now, all the anger drained from his face. Clarke’s pretty sure his cheeks are a little red as he tries to regain his composure.

She can’t help but smirk. He may have gotten his sweater back, but she  _definitely_  won this time. 

Bellamy mutters under his breath—something like a  _yeah, goodnight_ —before quickly exiting the room. 


	4. 19. "the paint’s supposed to go /where/?”

Clarke had called him in a panic, asking him if he had plans today. When she finally stopped talking long enough for him to respond, she told him she needed him to come by the studio on campus. 

He shows up to find a rather flustered-looking Clarke, though he’s happy to see the relief take over her face once she sees him come in.

"Thank god!" she exclaims as she runs over to him.

Clarke ushers him into the room and onto a stool in the middle of the studio.

"Take off your shirt." Bellamy doesn’t even question her. He’s been the subject of one or two of her projects before, he knows the drill by now—regardless of how awkward the first time had been.

What he doesn’t expect is the cold, wet liquid she rubs across his shoulder blades. Bellamy pulls away from her quickly, turning around, “What are you doing?”

"Bellamy, the project is to use the human body as your canvas. Didn’t you hear me on the phone?"

"Wait,  **the paint’s supposed to go _where_?** " His eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. Okay, he probably should have listened to her on the phone, but she was talking so fast and he couldn’t help but imagine the cute look she gets on her face when she’s worried, how her cheeks turn a little pink and she darts her tongue out to wet her lips in between all of her babbling.

"On your back, Bellamy. I thought it would be the best place to paint a landscape piece," Clarke moves closer to him, dipping her brush back into the paint before wiping it across his back again.

If he had known he was going to have to spend two hours with Clarke standing behind him, her hair occasionally tickling the skin of his shoulder, her breath on his neck whenever she asked if he needed to walk around again, her laugh at his ear whenever his hissed when the cold paint touched new skin, the smooth glide of her paintbrush accompanied by the firm, warm pressure of her hand on his shoulder, Bellamy  _may_  have declined.


	5. 6. “is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

It’s about 3am by the time Bellamy makes it home from Miller’s bachelor party. He shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it by the door before walking down the hallway to his bedroom. He doesn’t even bother to turn on the lights, which is probably why he’s about the take off his pants before he registers the rustling of his sheets.

Bellamy jumps back before he recognizes the blonde curls peeking out of his comforter. He sits on the side of the bed, gently shaking Clarke’s bare shoulder. She startles awake, sitting up quickly to look at him—the blankets pool around her waist to show a lacy black bra, one he has  _accidentally_  seen a few times before.

” **Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?** " Bellamy chuckles at the confusion on her face. She smells of lavender and vodka. Her hair is mussed and the messy curls frame her face, which is smeared with makeup. Her lipstick is smeared and Bellamy fights the urge to wipe it off, to drag his thumb across her bottom lip.

Clarke looks like she wants to argue with him, tell him to get out of  _her_  room, but she takes in the room around her and sighs. “Shit, I thought it was my room. No wonder the pillows felt so much softer,” her lips form a pout.

Octavia had all but dragged Clarke away from her textbooks for a night out. Clarke had collapsed onto what she had thought was  _her_ bed after prying the tight dress Octavia had squeezed her into once they finally got home. She had been out within minutes.

"I’m so sorry," Clarke mutters before leaning forward to get out of his bed. She stops once she feels his hand at her wrist.

"Don’t worry about it. My bed is more comfortable than yours anyways," Bellamy tells he begins builds a pillow barrier between them. He lies down on the other side once he changes, settling himself on top of the covers.

He’s pretty sure she’s already snoring, but he says it anyways, “Goodnight, Clarke.”


	6. 42. “i swear it was an accident.” + 43. “YOU DID WHAT?!”

" **YOU DID WHAT?!** " Bellamy’s voice booms around their small apartment and Clarke is  _really_  glad Octavia isn’t here to experience this particular form of her embarrassment.

" **I swear it was an accident** ,” Clarke puts her hands up in surrender, her face already flushed. She has to force herself not to look down at the ground.

"How did you  _accidentally_  tell your ex-boyfriend that we’re dating?” Bellamy places his hand on his hip and Clarke would laugh if she wasn’t so mortified.

"I may have told him that we live together,  _which we do_ ,” Clarke says, but Bellamy’s is looking at her expectantly, eyebrows raised. “Okay, okay, and then I may not have corrected him when he assumed I meant  _just_  the two of us, you know.” She practically whispers, “as a couple.” Clarke looks at the ground now, cheeks red with shame.

"And now you want me to go with you to see him and pretend to be your boyfriend because you’re too ashamed to tell him you lied?"

"First of all, I did not  _lie,_ " Clarke says, narrowing her eyes. Bellamy just looks unconvinced. "And second, yes. Please, it’s just one night and then I’ll tell him we broke up, I swear."

"Alright, but you so owe me, Griffin."

Okay, and maybe Bellamy doesn’t exactly  _hate_  the way Clarke leans into his shoulder at the bar that night. Or the way she nuzzles her face into his neck as Finn makes his way over to them. Or the pressure of her hand on his thigh. Or the chaste kiss she presses to his cheek when he brings her a drink. Or the feel of her soft curls as he absentmindedly twirls one around his finger. Or the way his hands fit almost perfectly around her waist. Or the way she shivers when he lightly runs his fingers down the side of her neck.

No, he definitely doesn’t hate it.


	7. 41. "you did all of this for me?”

Clarke had missed Bellamy’s birthday. Everyone was coming over to the apartment for a little get together and Octavia even spent all day making cupcakes and putting cute little decorations around the living room. But then, a big car accident on the freeway had Clarke staying at the hospital, stitching up minor injuries and doing x-rays all night.

She had called him as soon as she got the news, apologizing for not being able to make it. He told her and over and over again that it was okay, that he understood how important her internship and her work at the hospital was.

"You already gave me my present anyways," Bellamy had reminded her.

When Bellamy walked into the kitchen that morning—going straight for some coffee, his hair sticking out and the imprint of his pillow on his cheek—there was a small package sitting by the coffee maker. A big red bow over some stripped wrapping paper. Inside was a copy of Shakespeare’s  _Julius Caesar._ He knew it was from Clarke before he even opened the front cover.

"To the older, grumpier Blake: Happy Birthday! - Clarke," was inscribed opposite to the title page. Bellamy couldn’t help but smile, a lazy grin on his face as he flipped through the pages idly waiting for his coffee to brew.

But she still felt bad not being able to be there for him. Which is why she is currently making french toast hours before she would ever normally wake up on her few days off. Clarke’s not the best cook, but she  _may_  have practiced on Octavia a few days ago to make sure they were edible.

Bellamy stumbles his way into the kitchen to find Clarke setting up the table. There’s a big pile of french toast on a plate in the middle surrounded by smaller bowls filled with different fruits and toppings. There’s even a can of whip cream sitting next to the syrup. Clarke looks up after setting the silverware down to see Bellamy smiling at her.

He laughs once he sees the frilly yellow apron—Octavia’s—tied around Clarke’s waist and she blushes, ripping it off before smacking his shoulder with it.

"Shut up and be grateful," she tries to scowl at him but a smile creeps onto her face instead.

” **You did all of this for me?** " Bellamy asks even though he knows she did and his heart swells at the thought. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face even if he wanted to, watching the blush on her face deepen.

"I missed your birthday, I wanted to make it up to you," Clarke’s looking down, sneaking a peak up at him before sitting down and gesturing for him to do the same.

They both sit down and enjoy a nice breakfast together, talking about how historically inaccurate _Julius Caesar_  is probably, until Bellamy gets a call and has to go into the precinct. Clarke thinks he almost looks reluctant to go, but she understands, waving him away. He gives her one last smile (and a dorky little wave) on his way out, “Thank you.”

Clarke’s left smiling at the doorway, a small laugh bubbling up to the surface, as the door closes behind him.


	8. 47. “no one needs to know.”

Clarke stumbles into the apartment around 2 in the morning, her heels dangling in her hand and a smile on her face. She’s surprised to see him standing in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with holes around the hem. He laughs softly as she manages her way to the island he’s leaning on. 

"Have a good night, Princess?" he chuckles, his voice deep with sleep.

Clarke leans her hip onto the counter, pressing forward so her chest brushes against his shoulder when she inhales. She mumbles something about having a nice night out with Raven, “but mine didn’t end as well as hers did.” Raven picked up a cute blonde at the bar and went back to his place for the night. Clarke is sure she’ll get a text in the morning telling her exactly how good of a night it was.

Clarke puts an elbow on the counter, slumping over with her head in her hand. Bellamy looks over at Clarke. Her hair is a tangle of blond curls that are skimming the countertop and her sleeve has fallen off her shoulder, showing the blue strap of her bra. She’s looking at him, her glazed eyes roaming over his face, pausing at the dip in his chin, the small scar on his cheek.

Clarke sighs as her lips brush against Bellamy’s. She doesn’t remember moving this close to him, but she’s leaning into him, head angled up to capture his lips. She revels in the softness of his lips, which are softer than she ever imagined, more gentle. 

Bellamy almost kisses her back, but he pulls away instead.

Clarke sees his eyebrows furrow together when she opens her eyes and immediately realizes what she just did, who she just kissed.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry. I’m drunk. Let’s just pretend this never happened," Clarke babbles on, trying to remove the scowl from Bellamy’s face.

"Don’t worry about it, Princess.  **No one needs to know**. It didn’t happen,” Bellamy says, if only to make her stop talking, to make her stop reminding him how it was an accident, that it didn’t mean anything. That  _he_  doesn’t mean anything. He pulls away, grabbing his bowl to put in the sink.

Clarke’s voice is small, “Okay.” She tries to cover her disappointment.

"You should get some sleep," Bellamy moves past her before walking out of the kitchen. Clarke watches until she can’t see him anymore before placing both hands on the counter before her and groaning.

They both get horrible sleep that night.


	9. 11. ”don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

It snowed for three days. Clarke was stuck at the hospital helping the ER deal with all of the car accidents and falls that followed. By the time she makes it back to the apartment for the first time that week, the snow has stopped coming down, but everything is still covered in a thick layer of it.

Clarke is not surprised at all when Octavia is yelling at her to put on a jacket and then pulling her down the stairs to play in the snow. Bellamy looks even less inclined to do so, but he’s never been one to deny his little sister.

Octavia’s rolling around in the snow with her boyfriend, who conveniently showed up to visit, when Clarke sees Bellamy bending over to grab some snow of the ground. He’s packing it into his hand, a mischievous gleam in his eye and a smirk on his face as he looks over at her.

Clarke backs away, her hands out in front of her, “Bellamy Blake,  **don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!** ”

Bellamy was about to throw it at her, already aiming for her black jeans, when he sees Clarke trip backwards, landing in the snow. He’s about to laugh, but her cry of pain has him hurrying towards her.

"Are you alright?" Bellamy’s crouching next to her, trying to check her for any injuries even though he was no idea what he’s doing. He’s so worried, he only takes a few minutes to admire how cute she looks—the pink in her cheeks, the red tip of her nose, the snowflakes resting against her blonde curls.

"I’m fine, Bellamy. I think I just sprained my ankle."

Despite her  _many_  protests, Clarke is settled in Bellamy’s arms. One arm is hooked underneath her knees and the other is wrapped behind her back. Clarke tries not to think about how strong they are, how she’d be able to see the veins running over his biceps if he wasn’t bundled up for the cold weather.

Bellamy carries her all the way up to the apartment, having to forgo the broken elevator and take the stairs. Even though she’s frustrated with him—he didn’t have to  _carry_  her, she’s not helpless—she gives him a small smile, a thank you, as he sets her down on the couch in the living room.

Clarke can’t help but smile at this protective side of Bellamy. She’s used to seeing it directed at Octavia, but now Clarke wonders how long he’s been trying to protect her, too. The thought warms her, even though she still can’t feel her fingers.


	10. 4. "do you…well…i mean…i could give you a massage?”

Clarke almost looks dead when Bellamy comes home. She’s splayed out on the couch face down, her scrub pants still on and her top laying on the ground, revealing a pink tank top. He thinks she’s asleep, which is why he’s so surprised when she moves, pushing her hair out of her face. She mumbles into the couch cushion, but Bellamy can’t really make it out. She moves to get up and groans loudly before dropping back down.

"What’s wrong?" Bellamy’s standing by the couch arm, looking at her with worry.

"I’m just sore, stitching people up for hours on end isn’t the best for my back."

She sounds so tired and Bellamy can’t help but worry. He hates her long hours at the hospital probably as much as Clarke hates his at the precinct. Clarke works too hard and Bellamy wishes she would just get some more rest and stop trying to save the world all of the time.

He nervously shifts his weight. “ **Do you… well…** " Clarke looks up at him now, curiosity all over her face. " **I mean…** " he tries again. " **I could give you a massage?** " Bellamy’s hand goes up to rub at the back of his neck and he hides his face behind his arm.

Clarke’s mouth opens slightly in surprise, “Oh.” She looks over at him, shifting nervously and she can’t help by smile. “Yeah, sure,” she says, she could use a massage after all.

Bellamy kneels by the couch before leaning over her, placing two hands on her shoulders. “Is this okay?”

Clarke sighs out a  _yes_  as he presses into her sore muscles. Clarke tries to keep her noises under control because some of them are downright  _inappropriate_  and Bellamy would definitely agree. She’s pretty sure she heard him groan (which he attempted to cover with cough) after a particularly breathy moan she made when he pressed right in between her shoulder blades.

She’s almost asleep when she feels Bellamy’s breath on her shoulder.

Bellamy hears her soft intake of breath as he presses his lips against the small freckle on her shoulder blade. He likes how soft and warm her skin feels underneath his lips. He sighs before sliding down to the floor.

They stay there for a while—Bellamy sitting on the floor, his mop of curls pressed against Clarke’s shoulder, where she can feel the warm puffs of his breath—until Octavia gets home.


	11. 13. "kiss me."

Clarke woke up from a post-shift nap and shuffled her way into the living room, still wrapped in a blanket. Bellamy was sitting across the couch watching crappy weeknight television. When he sees Clarke, he moves his feet so she can sit down next to him, chuckling softly at her bedhead.

They settle on some stupid made-for-tv movie and Clarke moves closer to Bellamy, leaning her head onto his shoulder. She’s almost shocked by the familiarity and comfort she finds in his body heat and wonders when they turned into this. They’re definitely friends, and they make good roommates, but lately they’ve been stuck in this weird limbo—accompanied by casual touches, soft words, and late nights watching tv together when they can’t seem to sleep.

Sometime during the movie, Bellamy wraps an arm around her, his hand splayed around her hip. He pulls her into him, so her head is now resting on his chest and she can feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Every once in a while, his fingers tighten on the soft skin of her side and Clarke has to hold her breath.

She feels compelled to look up at him, pulling away from his chest lightly. Clarke can hear Bellamy’s soft grunt of protest as his hold tightens. She looks up to find him already looking down at her, his dark eyes boring into hers.

Bellamy doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but he can’t help the way his eyes move down, lingering over her soft pink lips. He wants to lean down, to put his lips over hers, but stops himself. Bellamy coughs, before turning his head back towards the television. She places her head back onto his chest and Bellamy moves his hand into her hair, playing with the blonde curls.

When the movie ends, they reluctantly untangle themselves, making their ways down the hall towards their bedrooms. Clarke stops in front of her door, watching Bellamy as he walks past her to get to his own. 

Bellamy stops when he feels her hand on his elbow.

“Bellamy,” her voice is a little rough and it stops him in his tracks.

He turns to face her and she drops her hand from his arm.

"Just do it," she says, looking up at him, her eyes flicking up and down between his eyes and lips.

"What?"

” **Kiss me** ,” her voice is a little shaky, but her eyes are steady, sure.

Clarke would—very  _maturely,_  mind you—add “I know you want to,” but the look on his face says she shouldn’t. The air around them is thick and Clarke suddenly isn’t sure she picked the right time to do this, to push him.

Bellamy wants to pretend that he has no idea where this is coming from, but he does. They both do. And he should have guessed she’d be the one to take the first step, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He steps into her, his hand tangling into the curls at the nape of her neck. Bellamy leans down and presses his lip firmly to hers.  _He doesn’t need to be told twice_. He wants this kiss to be more, to do more, but he pulls away after a few moment, to both of their disappointment. Bellamy already misses the soft pressure of her lips against his, how she moved her hand to the center of his chest, how she sighed against his mouth.

Clarke’s lips are parted and her blue eyes are a little dazed as he pulls away from her and he’s sure he looks just as affected. Before he can do anything stupid or she asks more of him (which he’d never be able to deny), Bellamy leans down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, Clarke," and with that he goes into his own bedroom, sneaking one last look at her before closing the door behind him.


	12. 34. ”if you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed rating to T because this alludes to sexy times sooooo

Bellamy’s sitting at the kitchen counter when Clarke comes barging into the apartment. She doesn’t even look over at him before stripping off her shirt. Clarke always wears a top underneath her scrubs, so she’s standing in the middle of the front hall in a small blue tank top when she turns to look at him.

"By all means, Princess, just take it all off right here," Bellamy chuckles at her flushed face. He can see the light redness on her chest as well, which is heaving.

"It’s hot outside and I just got off shift. Leave me alone," Clarke’s a little cranky after a long day. And the heat of summer is starting to creep up on them. Bellamy can see the light sheen of sweat on her skin.

Clarke looks directly at Bellamy as her fingers slip into the waistband of her scrubs and she slowly pushes the pants down her legs before stepping out of them. Bellamy raises his eyebrows at her, taking in the sight of her black panties and the long lines of her legs before setting the book he was reading down on the table.

She walks towards him, a devious smile on her face in place of the previous scowl, and the movement causes her tank top to rise, revealing her bare hips, and Bellamy is overwhelmed by the need to put his hands on her, to feel her soft skin underneath his fingertips

Bellamy’s pushing out his chair when he says, “You might as well take off the tank top, too.” Bellamy walks towards her as she lifts it off over her head, tossing it onto the top of the couch.

"Shouldn’t we take this somewhere a little more private?" Clarke is smirking now, amused by how dark Bellamy’s eyes already are, the way his hands are already out in front of him, ready to grab her waist and pull her into him.

The small thought of having to keep Octavia in the dark about this is pushed into the back of both of their minds—they’ll feel guilty about it later.

” **If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed** ,” Bellamy’s voice is already rough and Clarke can’t help the warmth that sinks low in her belly at the sound. She knows how much he loves it when she teases him, puts on a show. He loves to watch her strip almost as much as he loves ripping her clothes off himself.

Clarke smirk melts into a smile as he finally reaches her, his hands grabbing at her hips and his lips mouthing at her neck. When he nibbles, licks, kisses down to the tops of her breasts, she tastes like sweat.

They make it to the bedroom, a trail of Bellamy’s clothes left behind them. Clothes Clarke makes Bellamy get up and grab afterwards, just in case Octavia comes home. She smacks his ass as he leaves the room.


	13. 9. "don't you ever do that again!"

Clarke’s forehead is resting on his arm, her body haunched over in the chair she’s sitting in. It takes him a few minutes to realize she’s asleep, her body slowly rising and falling with her breathing. He places his other hand on her shoulder, stirring her awake.

Clarke sits up in a panic, looking around her quickly, her hair flying out around her with the motion. Then she realizes where she is. Bellamy’s hospital room. She flings herself at him, trying not to hit his shoulder—where he was  _shot_ —and wrapping her arms around his neck. She’s murmuring into his neck,  _you’re okay, you’re alive, you’re okay_. He chuckles, bringing his good arm up (after realizing it hurts to move the other) to wrap around her.

"I’m okay," his voice is deep and Clarke revels in the sound, glad to hear it again. She pulls back, wiping the tears off her cheeks.

”Don’t you ever do that again! You scared me and Octavia half to death! You could have died.” Clarke tries to yell at him, but it comes out much softer, more teary than angry. “You’re not allowed to just  _leave_ us.” He smiles up at her, a sad smile, and Clarke doesn’t have it in her to be mad at him. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers, a few more tears, blackened by her mascara, traveling down her face.

She places her head on his chest and feels Bellamy place his hand on her head, his fingers playing with the soft curls. Clarke listens intently to his heart beat, a continual  _thumpthumpthump,_  a steady reminder that he’s alive, that he’s okay, that he’s here with her.

She stays like that a few minutes before getting up. “I need to call O, she’s going to kill me if she thinks I didn’t call her the second you woke up.”

Bellamy watches Clarke as she calls his sister and he can’t help but smile. He’s glad he’s okay, too. Glad he’s here to be with Clarke, to see Octavia again. Bellamy laughs, the movement hurting, as he hears Octavia yelling on the other side of the phone—“Of course he decides to wake up once I leave, what a _dick_.”


	14. 22. “i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Clarke could feel his gaze. She turns towards the bar to look at him and his eyes are already on her—his gaze is dark, almost hungry, and Clarke shudders. She turns to her friends, an excuse already on her tongue.

"Hey guys, I’m a little thirsty. I’ll be at the bar."

She leaves the dance floor, the hem of her dress rising up as she walks. Clarke doesn’t even try to pull it down, reveling in the way Bellamy drinking in her legs, her upper thighs. She leans onto the bar next to him, asking the bartender for another drink.

When Clarke turns, her hip up against the bar and her body facing into him, Bellamy looks down at her. She can smell the liquor on his breath.

Clarke already knows this isn’t a good idea. But what the hell.

She leans further into him and brings her hand up to his chest, her fingers circling the buttons of his shirt. Clarke can feel his muscles tense up underneath her touch and she can’t help the devious smirk that crosses her features. He’s still looking down at her, his eyes almost black and his lips parted. Clarke has a feeling he wants to pull way, out of her reach, but he refuses to back down from a challenge.

” **I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice** ,” her voice is low, a whisper into his shoulder.

Bellamy lowers his head a bit, getting closer to her.

"Oh yeah, Princess? And how is that?" His voice is rough, a deep rumble and Clarke can feel goosebumps erupt on her skin.

Clarke lifts her head, getting even closer to him, her hands pressing into his chest to keep her balance. Her lips almost brush against his full bottom lip. Clarke feel Bellamy hold his breath.

The loud clink of her drink being dropped on the bar next to them brings them back. Bellamy turns his head as Clarke puts her weight back onto her heels, leaning away from him. She quickly grabs her shot and downs it.

By the time she turns back to him, Bellamy is gone, walking towards Miller and the guys at a table in the corner.

In the morning when they both wake up to their heads pounding, they forget it ever happened, forget that Clarke almost confronted what they’ve been dancing around for months.

Clarke gives him a small smile as Bellamy hands her some coffee before they both hide in their respective rooms and try to forget last night every happened.


	15. 23. ”just once.”

He stumbles into the apartment. It’s dark, all of the lights turned off, so he feels his way down the hallway. His fingertips run along the walls. His bedroom is at the very end of the hall, but looking at the partially opened door, seeing the darkness within, Bellamy can’t bring himself to go in there.

He opens the second door, instead.

Clarke’s already asleep, her blonde hair peeking out of the comforters. She stirs at the sound of the door opening, her head popping out from under her blankets to look at him.

Bellamy stands next to the bed, looking down at her.

Clarke doesn’t hesitate, sitting up and pulling him towards her by his hand.

She knows what day it is.

Bellamy and Octavia always spend this day together, talking about the memories they have of their mother—trying to celebrate her life. But when Octavia left to spend the night over at Lincoln’s, Bellamy gravitated to the nearest bar. Now he is drunk, tired, and he doesn’t want to be alone.

Clarke sits him down, pushing his jacket off his shoulders and softly telling him to take off his shoes, his belt. He even strips off his jeans, knowing they probably have liquor soaked into them. His clothes are piled by Clarke’s bed as he climbs under the covers with her.

Clarke pulls him towards her, placing his head on her chest and threading her fingers into his hair.

”Just this once,” she whispers, a poor attempt at a joke, to diffuse the tension. Bellamy doesn’t respond, only pushes his face further into the soft material of her shirt, but he’s grateful.

His shudders a broken sigh into her and Clarke can feel tears soaking into her shirt. She stays like that, soothing him, her fingers lightly running through his unruly curls, until she feels his breath even out and she finally allows herself to fall asleep.

Bellamy’s already gone when she wakes up in the morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oKAY I CHEATED A LITTLE I'M SORRY


	16. 40. "have i entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

Bellamy is exhausted when he finally gets home, leaning back on the front door once it closes behind him, closing his eyes, and letting out a loud sigh.

"Good morning!"

Bellamy is startled by a cheery voice. He forces his eyes open to see Clarke sitting in the middle of the living room on a stool set in front of a canvas. There’s newspaper strewn around her on the floor to catch any paint that may fall. Apparently Clarke likes to wake up early and paint on her days off, still in her ridiculously adorable floral pajama shorts and all of her blonde hair piled on top of her head.

Bellamy walks towards her, leaving his stuff in a trail behind him, and collapses halfway—facedown on the couch. He hears Clarke giggle before she turns back around, lifting her brush once again and sweeping it across her canvas.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when Clarke taps on his shoulder. She laughs at his groan, but keeps tapping until her looks up at her. Clarke has a coffee cup in her hand, “Keep Calm, I’m a Medical Student” printed across it. She presses the cup into his hand.

"I also made some pancakes if you want any," she says softly before walking back towards the kitchen. "They’re blueberry," Clarke calls out when he doesn’t move after a few moments.

Bellamy laboriously makes his way to the kitchen table to see Clarke sitting there, already halfway into her stack. He notices that her fingers have paint streaked across them and her paintbrush is tucked behind her ear, a little bit of blue paint getting into her hair when she moves her head forward to take another bite.

"Long night at work?" she asks. When he sighs, Clarke realizes he must not want to talk about it and flushes, embarrassed for asking such a stupid question.

Bellamy looks up after a few moments, worried he may have scared her away, to find her looking at him as if she’s debating something.

"So I stumbled across a Renoir painting the other day,  _Portrait of Mademoiselle  Irene Cahen d `Anvers,”_ she begins, her lips working around a piece of pancake."It’s beautiful. I’ve never really been all that interested in impressionism, but a friend of mine—we’ve taken a few art classes together—he _loves_  it.” And she just keeps going, rambling about how she’s been trying to imitate it, how difficult the paint strokes are, how fucking  _small_  they’re supposed to be, and how she can never seem to get the subtle shadows right.

Clarke’s in the middle of a rant about Monet, her hands flying around her, when she looks up at Bellamy to see him smiling.  _At her_. She takes it in a few seconds, noticing how much younger he looks when he smiles.

Her lips are curled into a smirk as she says, “ **Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?** ”

Bellamy scoffs at her, trying not to smile again but failing. He can’t help it, she’s just so  _cute_. He had one of the worst shifts he’s had in months and he comes home to Clarke furiously trying to recreate impressionist paintings from the 19th century in her pjs, making him breakfast and coffee, and now trying to get his mind off of work. He smiles wider at the thought, at how considerate and kind she is. Bellamy  _really_  hopes he can’t tell that he’s blushing, the skin of his cheeks burning.

"Oh, shut up and tell me more about  _Woman with a Parasol_ ,” he responds, wrinkling his nose at her before taking another bite out of his delicious blueberry pancakes.

Clarke moves on to Degas as she’s making more pancakes for Bellamy, at his request, of course. He laughs when she tries to flip one up into the air and it misses the pan entirely, smearing pancake mix on the floor.


	17. 16. “it could be worse.” + 17. ”looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

"Hey Bellamy! Can you come in here?" Clarke’s voice rings throughout the apartment. He looks into the living room from his spot in the kitchen trying to determine where she’s calling him from. Bellamy finds her in the bathroom, twisting frantically at the knob.

"It’s keeps getting stuck. Can you fix it?" Clarke asks, looking up at him.

Bellamy reaches for it and twists to find that he can’t.

About 15 minutes later, after finding a screwdriver and some swearing, the lock is fixed. Bellamy closes the door a few times, opening it easily enough and smiles at a job well done.

Clarke smiles too and grabs for the knob. Both of their smiles fall as she can’t open it. Bellamy pushes her hand away, his large hand gripping the knob and turning it violently, but to no avail. He fiddles with it a few more times before going to reach for his screwdriver—

"Shit," his curses loudly. "I left the screwdriver in the hallway."

Bellamy finally sits down on the toilet seat after he gets tired of pulling on the door knob, admitting defeat. He almost thought about kicking the door down, but then they wouldn’t get their deposit back. Clarke’s laying down in the bathtub, one leg rested on the rim, her toes wiggling. 

"I already texted Octavia. She’s at work right now so I told her to stay. Her manager is an asshole and I don’t want her to get in trouble," Clarke says. She rolls her eyes when Bellamy huffs dramatically.

” **Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…** " Bellamy sighs, resting his head back.

” **It could be worse** ,” Clarke mumbles, so low she almost couldn’t hear him.

"Yeah? And how is that?" Bellamy is looking at her expectantly.

"This could have happened a few months ago."

Clarke’s the first one to laugh, Bellamy joining her a few moments later, as they remember how awkward and horrible their first few months all living together were. Bellamy and Clarke couldn’t be in the same room for more than a few moments without fighting over something stupid (which still happens but it’s much more friendly now,  _usually_ ). It had taken an intervention from Octavia before they finally seemed to call a truce.

Clarke smiles, thinking of the first time Bellamy brought her coffee one morning because he was already pouring himself some. Usually he just made enough for a few cups and left it there for whoever wanted it. Eventually it became a routine on the mornings that they were both in the apartment, Bellamy quickly learning how she takes it, adding a little bit of milk and  _three_  spoonfuls of sugar (he always wrinkles his nose as he drops in the third) into her coffee before handing it to her.

Bellamy reminds her of a particularly horrible thing she had said to him once before the more amicable times, even trying to imitate her voice. Clarke laughs so hard tears sprung to her eyes. And looking at Clarke—sprawled across the bathtub floor, one leg pulled into her chest as she laughs into her hands, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her cheeks flushed—Bellamy is really glad they made it here. Even if  _here_  is the bathroom they accidentally locked themselves in.

It really could be worse. He could be stuck with someone who wasn’t Clarke.

Octavia is pulling the door open less than an hour later, smirking at the smiles plastered on both of their faces.

"What did you guys do to pass the time, huh?" she asks, her eyebrow raised.

They both roll their eyes and scoff as they get up from their spots, but Octavia doesn’t miss how they both look over at each other briefly, small smiles on their faces.


	18. 5. "wait a minute. are you jealous?"

Clarke took the last seat on the bus. Her and Bellamy are on their way downtown to meet up with Octavia and some friends for lunch at a new restaurant. Bellamy is standing in the aisle, one hand on the bar above him and the other curled around his cell phone as he tells Octavia they’re on their way, on the bus after a little care trouble. They’ll have Raven look at it later.

Clarke got a seat by the window next to a girl about her age, her long brown hair tumbling over her shoulder in billowing curls. She had said hi to her when she first sat down, proceeding to ask about her day, compliment her skirt. Clarke is now talking to her animatedly about her latest art project, after the girl pointed out the streak of paint on her wrist.

Bellamy hears Clarke’s laugh resonate throughout the cabin of bus, the sound loud and joyful. He turns to look at her, frowning when he sees her placing her hand onto the arm of the striking girl next to her. He reaches his arm over to grab the bar closer to Clarke, his eyebrows drawn together. Bellamy’s hand clenches tighter around the bar when he hears her laugh again, turning his head to see Clarke holding her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles. The girl next to her is leaning into her, laughing along with her.

When they get to their stop, Bellamy has to remind Clarke where they are, who is too enthralled in her conversation to notice it seems. Clarke gets up, moving past the girl, their knees bumping together causing them both to laugh again.

"It was nice meeting you," Bellamy hears Clarke say to the girl before waving. The girl waves back enthusiastically, a grin on her face, as they get off the bus.

"Well, she was nice," Clarke starts as they step off the bus onto the sidewalk.

The bus is pulling away as he says it, “What? She didn’t want to ask for your number?”

Clarke laughs, “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous, Bellamy.” She looks up at him and sees the stubborn scowl on his face, his head angled downwards. He has his hands shoved into his pockets as he practically stomps beside her.

” **Wait a minute. Are you jealous?** " Clarke’s face is one of shock and amusement, a laughing smile forming on it.

Bellamy grimaces at the ground, mumbling a grumpy  _no_.

"You’re jealous! Oh my god, the great Bellamy Blake, jealous!" Clarke is laughing around the words.

"Oh shut up," Bellamy grumbles.

Clarke stops laughing (after a few more giggle escape), saving Bellamy more embarrassment. She pokes him in the side, right above the waistband of his jeans. He turns to look at her and she smiles at him, no longer teasing.

Bellamy tries to fight it, but he can’t stop the small smile he giver her.

By the time they’re walking into the restaurant, they’re both laughing about an incident at the precinct involving a new cadet and the coffee maker in the break room. Bellamy drops his hand to the small of Clarke’s back as they walk through the entrance, removing it once they get closer to the booth filled with all of their friends.


	19. 38. ”you fainted…straight into my arms. you know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Bellamy’s in his room reading  _Julius Caesar_ , his feet propped up on his desk, when he hears a scream down the hall. He quickly puts his book down and makes his way into the hallway. Bellamy hears some movement in Clarke’s room, a few more quiet yelps, and he quickly opens the door.

Clarke is standing on her bed, her hand over her mouth as she points into the corner of the room.

“You doing okay, Princess?” he jokes, now that he sees she isn’t in any  _mortal_  danger, a smirk on his face.

“There’s a spider in the corner over there, please kill it.” Clarke says, backing further away, stepping off her bed and moving into the corner of the room near the door where Bellamy is still standing.

He looks over to see a small spider sitting in the corner of the room right above Clarke’s desk. Bellamy is moving to go towards it when the spider moves, climbing further up its web. Clarke lets out another shriek, fumbling further backwards and running into Bellamy. He grabs her shoulders to keep her from falling.

“For a woman you literally sees blood and guts on a daily basis, you sure are afraid of such a little spider,” he laughs as he lets go of her shoulders, moving around to her side.

“It’s not a big deal, I just don’t like spiders, okay?” she’s huffing and Bellamy finds it adorable.

“ **You fainted…straight into my arms** ,” he says. He leans down, his lips next to her ear, “ **You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.** ”

Clarke’s face reddens, “I did not  _faint_ , Bellamy, stop being so dramatic.” She really looks like she wants to hit him.

“Says the girl who screamed when she saw a spider,” he quips back, a smile on his face. Clarke actually hits him, her hand smacking his shoulder. And  _no_ , she’s doesn’t notice how firm his muscles are.

“Oh shut up and just get the spider out of my room!” 

“Yes, your highness,” Bellamy says in a low tone, bowing theatrically before walking over into the corner, looking for something to trap it in.

He laughs at Clarke’s mantra of  _ew ew ew_  as he walks past her with the spider inside one of her old coffee mugs, a piece of paper sealed over the top of it with his hand.


	20. 21. ”we’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

They had dinner at a nice restaurant down the street. It was nice, quiet, and Bellamy Blake looks _great_ in a dress shirt. He even tried to tame his wild locks but they started to rebel before they even made it to their table.

Bellamy is still thinking about how beautiful Clarke looked in the candlelight of their table, her cheeks round with a smile and her golden curls falling around her face and shoulders. The light danced in her eyes and Bellamy couldn’t hold back a soft, joyful laugh at the sight.

Now, they’re holding hands as they walk back to their apartment. Bellamy is walking quickly, pulling Clarke along because it’s about to rain. The weather had been a little dreary before they left, but he thought they’d get back before the weather could escalate. By the small raindrops that are falling on his face and shoulders, Bellamy was wrong.

He lets out an exasperated sigh when Clarke stops behind him, resulting in her hand slipping out of his. Bellamy turns around to see Clarke standing still, her hands held out in front of her, catching raindrops in her palms.

“Really, Princess? **We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?** ” Bellamy tries to huff, but Clarke can hear the smile on his face.

“Have a little fun, Bellamy.” She closes her eyes and lifts her face up towards the sky, enjoying the small drops that land on her skin.

“Come on, Clarke,” Bellamy grabs for one of her hands. “It’s going to get cold.”

Clarke pulls at his hand, making Bellamy spin her around as she twirls under his arm, the skirt of her dress flying out around her. She does it another time (and Bellamy _definitely_ participates this time, regardless of what he’ll say later when they get to their apartment soaking wet and sniffling) before pulling herself into his chest. Clarke glances up at him to see a soft smile on his face.

Bellamy looks at her—the redness in her cheeks and on the tip of her little nose, the raindrops that have settled in her blonde waves, the contented smile on her face—and, _fuck it_ , he can’t stop himself from bending down to kiss her, pressing his lips firmly over hers. Clarke smiles into his lips before kissing him back, moving further into him as he puts his warm hands over her jaw.

They stay like that for a while, kissing as the rain falls, Bellamy groaning as Clarke slides her tongue over his bottom lip. He pulls away, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Maybe we should go home, continue this there?” Bellamy says, his breath coming out as small puffs in the cold air.

Clarke pulls away, taking his hand with a small nod before leading the way back to their apartment, the skirt of her wet dress clinging to her thighs.


	21. 49. “well this is awkward…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: smutty (and as a result, the rating has changed to M)

Clarke’s hands are fisting into her sheets, her knuckles white with the strain. She throws her head back into the mattress as Bellamy licks at her, his tongue pressing down firmly to lick up her folds before circling around her clit. She lets out a low moan as he pushes a finger into her, pumping a few times.

“Shit, Clarke,” he mutters and his voice is deep, rough.

Clarke revels in the sound, proud of the affect she has over him—even as _he’s_ going down on _her_. He presses a second finger into her and she has to bite back a whine.

Clarke’s eyes snap open, panic filling her chest, as her bedroom door flies open, Octavia barreling in. Bellamy had told her that Octavia was supposed to be out today, errands to run or plans with Lincoln or _something_. But apparently that is not the case as Octavia walks into the room, already talking.

“Hey Clarke, do you have that top I was go—” Octavia stops as she takes in Clarke, laying on her bed in a bra, a sheet raised up to her waist. Clarke puts a hand on Bellamy’s head through the sheet covering him up, thanking anyone and everyone that Octavia can’t see that it’s her _brother_  with his head between Clarke’s thighs.

Octavia slowly backs out of the room, a smirk on her face.

“I’ll let you two finish up,” she says with a wink at Clarke.

***

Clarke is standing at her door, her hand lingering over the handle. She looks back, giving Bellamy a worried look.

“We’ll have to come out eventually,” Bellamy says with a sigh, walking towards her, moving her hand out of the way to open the door.

Octavia is sitting on the couch when they come out, excitedly waiting to meet the guy that has had her roommate in such a good mood for the last few weeks. The smirk on her face falls when she see her brother walk out of Clarke’s room. Clarke is trailing behind him, her face already red. Bellamy stops in front of his sister, his hand going up to nervously scratch at the back of his neck.

Octavia opens her mouth a few times, before closing it again, as though she’s struggling to find something to say.

“ **Well, this is awkward…** ” she finally says.

Clarke almost wants to laugh, but the shame is just too overwhelming.


	22. 3. “please, don’t leave.”

Clarke wakes up to the sheets rustling. She looks over to see Bellamy sitting next to her on the bed, his feet planted on the floor. She silently watches as he stands, pulling on his boxers and a t-shirt. He has his hand on the door knob when she finally says something.

“ **Please, don’t leave** ,” she whispers.

Bellamy looks over, surprised she’s awake. He sees Clarke on the bed, the sheets wrapped around her, covering her naked form. Bellamy immediately wishes he hadn’t looked back, hadn’t seen the pleadingly look on her face (or the hickey blooming on her collarbone). He forces his eyes towards the ground, a frown forming across his features.

“Clarke,” he sounds defeated.

"Bellamy,” she says, begging him to look at her again.

When he finally does, she pats the spot beside her, waiting for him to sit down. Bellamy doesn’t. He continues standing by the door, but he takes his hand off the door knob and Clarke takes that as a small victory.

“It isn’t just about the sex. It never was,” she can’t look at him when she says it. Bellamy sighs, a deep breath forcing out of his lungs as he walks towards the bed. He sits on the edge, where he was when Clarke first woke up, and places his head in his hands.


	23. 37. ”wanna dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also based on this prompt: “don’t imagine your otp slow dancing in their socks while the taller of the two hums a tune (terribly) for them to dance to and the shorter has their face pressed into the taller one’s shoulder. don’t imagine it.”

Clarke’s curled up on the couch when he gets home, as usual. He thinks she’s asleep until her head pops and she’s smiling at him. Bellamy gives a little wave, making Clarke laugh, before he ducks into his bedroom to change out of his uniform. 

Bellamy walks back into the living room in his favorite pair of sweatpants and his undershirt, his socks rubbing across the carpet. He makes a beeline for the kitchen, excited for the midnight ( _okay_ , 2am) snack that he’s been looking forward to for the last 4 or so hours.

Clarke pads her way into the kitchen a few moments later, her bare feet briefly sticking to the tile as she walks. She smiles when she finds Bellamy leaning over the toaster, humming a song under his breath.

He doesn’t notice her until she’s leaning against the counter next to him, a small smile on her face that makes him feel a little self-conscious. Bellamy is pushing down the lever on the toaster when she says something, breaking the silence of the apartment.

“What were you humming?” she asks, a small chuckle behind the words.

He almost brushes it off, replying with a lazy  _nothing_ , but the smile in her eyes pushes him to be truthful. “It’s a song my mom used to sing to me and Octavia when we couldn’t sleep, when Octavia would have nightmares.”

The sad reminiscent smile on his face almost takes her breath away and Clarke feels her cheeks pink. Bellamy is looking at her, his eyes shining in the dim lighting of the kitchen. Clarke wants to look away, to break the eye contact and mutter her way through a  _goodnight_  so she doesn’t have to keep trying to pretend she isn’t affected by Bellamy Blake.

She’s about to look away, look down at her bare feet, when Bellamy places two fingers under her chin. He brings her face back up before placing a few fingers across her jawbone. He smiles at the surprise on her face and Clarke can’t help the fluttering in her stomach.

“ **Wanna dance?** ” Bellamy asks, his hand moving from her face to tug at the hand resting at her side.

Clarke laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation, the sounds filling the kitchen, but she nods anyway. Bellamy tugs on her hand again, pulling her into him. He wraps an arm around her, his palm flat against her spine. One of her hands’ in his own and Clarke brings her arm up to wrap around his shoulder.

Bellamy starts humming the song again, the rumble vibrating against Clarke’s chest. Clarke presses her cheek into the broad expanse of his shoulder, looking at their intertwined hands. She breathes in deeply before letting out a contented smile.

She can’t see the smile that crosses Bellamy’s face at the sound.

They slow dance in a small circle in the kitchen, Bellamy moving them in lazy circles as his socks glide across the tile underneath them. Clarke finds the tune (however terrible) as soothing as the solidness of his body against her, the deep reverberation of his humming as comforting as the steady meter of his heartbeat. They stay like that, even when Bellamy’s toast pops up.


	24. 36. “i wish i could hate you.”

Bellamy finally gets his key in the lock when her teeth tug at his earlobe. Once they get inside, he presses her up against the back of the door, shoving a knee in between her thighs. She groans into his skin as she places open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Grabbing her by the waist, he pulls her across the room until they’re leaning up against the back of the couch. Her hands sneak up the front of his shirt when he hears a sharp intake of breath.

Clarke came out into the living room just in time to see Bellamy making out with some brunette, his lips at her neck as he struggled to get her coat off. Now they’re both looking at her and it isn’t until that moment she realizes she must have made a noise. She looks at them for a few more moments, noticing the dazed look on Bellamy’s face.

The look is very quickly replaced by a look of shock, his eyes widening as he braces an arm between him and the girl, who is still drawing her fingers along the waistband of his jeans. He didn’t have the noblest of intentions—he  _was_  kind of looking forward to the look on Clarke’s face when she  _would_ have seen the girl leave his bedroom in the morning—but Bellamy never intended for her to see  _this._ He’s putting a hand out towards Clarke, about to say something, but she turns around. She’s closing the door behind her when she hears him softly call her name.

A few minutes later, after Clarke hears the front door close, Bellamy is stumbling down the hallway. He knocks a few times but Clarke ignores it, throwing her comforter over her head.

“Clarke,” he calls her name a few times, whispering it into the crack between the frame and the door, unintentionally muffling the sound. “Clarke, come on, I know you’re awake.”

A few moments later, he’s mumbling into the door again, saying he’s sorry for breaking the rules— _as if that’s what this is about_. They have rules, apartment-wide rules, about bringing over “friends,” but this was more than that and they both know it. 

Clarke huffs before finally getting up, knowing he won’t leave until she finally acknowledges him. She slowly opens the door, hoping he’s not leaning up against it. 

Bellamy lets out a sigh when she opens the door. Clarke’s wearing her little pajama shorts and Bellamy tries not to linger on her legs. Or think about how she never wears a bra to sleep and that’s probably why her arms are clutched across her chest. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, before he finally looks up at her.

Clarke can see the telltale signs of intoxication. His eyes are glossed over and there’s a few drops of sweat rolling down from his temples. She can smell the alcohol on his breath. His shirt is still pushed up, showing a little bit of the tanned skin of his stomach, and Clarke can’t  _not_  think about the girl who was hanging all over him just a few minutes ago.

“ **I wish I could hate you.**  It would be so much easier,” Clarke breathes, looking down.

Bellamy runs a finger over her forearm, the cold sensation shocking her. She wants to pull away. But she misses him, misses his touch, so she allows herself this small moment.

“No, you don’t,” Bellamy says softly, drawing a crooked line over her other forearm.

“No. I don’t.” 

Bellamy tries to suppress a shudder that runs through him, leaning forward to press his forehead to the doorframe. From this angle, he can see the fine blonde hair on her arms. She sighs and he feels her breath run through his hair.

They stand like that for a few moments, silence between them, until Clarke backs up further into her room.

Clarke closes her door, slipping a small “Goodnight, Bellamy” through the crack before pressing her back against the door and running her hands over her face.

Bellamy stays there for a few moments, concentrating on his breathing. He mumbles a goodnight into the wood of her door before walking down the hall into his bedroom. He’s out within minutes.

 


	25. 26. "i got you a present.”

Clarke comes home to find a big gift bag sitting on the kitchen table. “Clarke” is scribbled across the gift tag and her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Bellamy? Octavia?” Clarke calls throughout the apartment.

When she hears movement in the hallway, Clarke turns to see Bellamy walking towards her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“What’s this?” she says once he gets closer to her.

“Oh, umm that,” Bellamy looks down, scratching at his neck. “ **I got you a present.** ”

She just keeps looking at him, her eyes wide in surprise.

He scrambles to explain, “It’s a ‘have a nice few days off’ present. I heard you talking about getting some days to yourself soon, so I thought I’d get you something.” He’s still looking at the ground, “To pass the time or whatever.”

Clarke looks shocked when Bellamy finally looks up at her after a few moments of silence, sees her looking at the bag. She raises her eyes to his once more. He nods towards the the bag, a hesitant smile on his face as he tries to swallow the anxiety settled in his throat.

She carefully picks up the bag, slowly pulling the blue tissue paper out of the it. When she looks into the bag, a smile stretches across her face.

The apprehension leaves Bellamy’s body slowly as she smiles up at him. He had heard she was getting a few days off earlier in the week, which he was very glad about—Clarke works too hard. He wanted to get her something, maybe her favorite cereal or one of those romance novels he knows she loves to read on lazy days off. The entire plan clicked together when he overheard Octavia and Clarke talking about Lincoln’s newest art installment.

Clarke kept going on and on about how cool it was, how the paints Lincoln had just started using recently were really complimentary to the style of his newest collection, how excited she was to try them out herself. And that’s what had Bellamy calling his little sister’s boyfriend to ask about his newest painting series.

Bellamy scoured every art supply store in downtown for the casein paints, trying to find as many different colors as he could. He even bought a few masonite canvases in different sizes. The brilliant smile on Clarke’s face right now makes it all worth it.

Clarke drops the bag back onto the table before turning towards Bellamy to wrap her arms around him, crushing her bodies into his. He scrambles to hug her back, his arms wrapping around her waist tightly in response.

“Thank you, Bellamy. You really didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” is all he says in reply, before leaving her to examine all the paints and brushes in the gift bag.

A week or two later, Bellamy comes home for lunch to find a painting propped up on the kitchen table, a stack of books set behind it to keep it up. It’s not very big, maybe 6 by 8 inches, but Bellamy still brightens at the site. Clarke has painted him in pale pastels, a portrait of him smiling, teeth and all.

Next to the painting is a small piece of paper, “Thank you” printed in Clarke’s loopy handwriting.

 


	26. 10. “teach me how to play?”

He hears the front door open before it slams shut. He can hear movement down the hall before Clarke’s door shuts. A few moments later, he hears her leave the apartment, closing the door a little less violently behind her.

Bellamy gives her 15 minutes before getting up to follow.

He knows where she is without even thinking about it. He’s a few feet away from the rec room door when he can finally hear the somber tones drifting out. Clarke usually plays sad music when she’s had a bad day, more aggressive music after a trying day.

The melancholy notes make Bellamy think that maybe she lost another patient today. She’s been working in the pediatrics unit lately and she takes the loses pretty hard, hiding in the piano room whenever she can, putting her frustration—her feelings of helplessness—into the keys.

She’s bent over the piano when he finally opens the door, her hair acting as a curtain around her face. He walks towards her and Clarke must have heard him because she turns to look at him. There’s a small smile on her face when she realizes who he is before she scoots over to make room for him on the bench.

Bellamy places a comforting hand on her shoulder for a few moments before sitting down beside her. The bench is so small that their sides are touching, their upper arms and thighs pressed together. Clarke had stopped playing when she saw him, but now that they were sitting in silence, her fingers softly press back into the keys, playing a song by memory.

Bellamy watches her—the drawn expression on her face, the way her small fingers pressed into the keys with a featherlight drag, how she closes her eyes when she gets to what he assumes is her favorite part of the melody. Looking at her, he wonders where she is right now, who she’s with.

He sees a tear fall down her cheek and he can’t stop the hand that reaches out to catch it, wiping it away with the back of his fingers. She opens her eyes at the contact, looking at him, eyes wide and shiny.

“ **Teach me how to play?** ” Bellamy asks softly, partly to distract her and partly to stop her from looking at him like that, looking at him with those sad eyes he can do nothing about.

She smiles a little at him before grabbing his hands, placing his fingers over the keys before pressing her own over his.

She laughs lightly whenever he messes up and Bellamy relishes the sound, the happy look on her face, the way her cheeks pink delicately.

Clarke looks up at Bellamy to find him smiling down at her and she’s glad he followed her down here—not that she expected him not to.

 


	27. 24. ”you’re the only one i trust to do this.”

Bellamy groans as he pulls on the unruly curls at the back of his neck. He could have  _sworn_  he just cut it, but the stupid little curls are already back.

He almost jumps when he hears the front door open.

“Clarke?” he calls down the hallway. When he hears an affirming hum, Bellamy hurries down the hall towards her.

“Clarke, I need you to cut my hair again,” he starts.

“Yeah, Bellamy, I’m having a great day, thanks for asking,” Clarke’s tone is dripping in sarcasm as she raises on eyebrow at him after putting all of her things down.

“Please,” Bellamy pleads. He has to leave in less than a hour and he hates how his hair is sticking to the back of his neck.

“Why can’t you just pay someone else to do it again?”

“Because, Clarke,  **you’re the only one I trust to do this** ,” Bellamy replies and Clarke tries (and fails) to not roll her eyes.

Bellamy had  _one_  bad experience at a barber shop that lead to Clarke trying to fix it, using the sparse knowledge she obtained from her mother when she taught her how to cut her dad’s hair. His hair used to grow back so fast that it was just easier to cut it at home, so whenever her dad’s hair got too long—began brushing against his ears in a way that drove him nuts—Clarke would cut it for him if her mom was stuck at the clinic. Bellamy’s cut had been so bad that Clarke couldn’t help herself. She had to try to fix it.

Now, she  _almost_  regrets the decision, with Bellamy allowing no one but her to touch his precious locks.

Bellamy is sitting on the toilet seat, Clarke standing over him with her small fingers brushing through his hair to check the length. Bellamy tries not to make a sound as she pulls lightly on the strands, but fails, a pleased hum leaving his lips. He can’t see the small smile on Clarke’s face, but his cheeks still heat up.

After a few more unconfined sighs of pleasure—and one particularly embarrassing moan when she caught him by surprise—Bellamy is standing as Clarke circles him, taking in the cut from all sides. She gives him a curt nod of approval and a smile before turning to leave.

Bellamy grabs for her wrist to stop her. When she turns to look at him, he smiles down at her, a smile that  _almost_  stops the breath in her chest.

“Thank you,” Bellamy says, and his thumb drags absentmindedly across the smooth skin under her wrist.

“You’re welcome, Bellamy.” Clarke moves her hand up to mess with one of the small curls on Bellamy’s forehead, “It looks nice.”

Bellamy smiles, looking down at the ground. Clarke turns to move again when they both realize that Bellamy still has his fingers curled gently around her wrist. He quickly lets go and Clarke leaves, tossing a small wave over her shoulder.


	28. 45. "tell me a secret."

Clarke is sitting at the bar, already a few drinks in. Bellamy’s standing next to her, his forearms braced on the counter top. Octavia and Lincoln are on the dance floor, a sight Bellamy is desperately trying to avoid. Clarke is drawing circles around the rim of her glass, waiting for Raven to stop flirting with bartender,  _the poor bastard_ , so she can get another drink. She looks up at Bellamy, who is currently tapping his fingers against the bar impatiently.

“Why don’t you like me?” the words fall out of Clarke’s mouth without her permission and she thinks maybe she  _doesn’t_  need another drink. She cringes at how childish she sounds, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

Bellamy looks down at her, eyes wide in surprise before he schools his look, settling for a neutral scowl.

“I don’t  _not_  like you, princess.” He smiles a little when she frowns—her bottom lip jutting out adorably—at the nickname despite himself, before continuing, “I don’t even really know you.”

Clarke seems to perk up at that, leaning into him in a way that surprises him. Her long hair brushes against his forearm resting on the bar.

She smiles up at him, her voice a mischievous whisper, “Maybe we should get to know each other then.”

“Oh yeah, Princess? And what did you have in mind?” Bellamy sets his infamous smirk in place and tries not to think about how she smells like lavender. 

Her voice is lower still, so Bellamy has to lean down towards her to hear her fully when she whispers, “ **Tell me a secret**.”

Bellamy chuckles, placing a big hand of Clarke’s shoulder.

“Why don’t we start off with something a little less incriminating, huh, princess?”

Bellamy is leaning into her when he says it, almost whispering into her ear in his rough voice, which has somehow gotten even lower. Clarke can smell the whiskey he’s been drinking as his breath fans her cheek. She blushes at their proximity, at the warmth of his hand on her shoulder as the heat radiates out from his touch.

“Okay,” Clarke laughs nervously and she hopes that Bellamy doesn’t notice how shallow her breathing is, “what’s your favorite book?”

He laughs and Clarke smiles up at him, giggling herself. Bellamy sits on the barstool next to her, turning towards her so their knees are touching, and starts telling her about  _The Odyssey._ He scoffs later when she reveals how much she loves  _Hamlet_ , but he gives her the benefit of the doubt and tries (and fails, probably) not to bring up  _The Lion King_.


	29. 2. "have you lost your damn mind?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prepare for angst, the next is no better either

Bellamy is walking up the staircase when he hears a small crash and some muttering. He hits the landing and sees a small blonde push herself out the emergency exit. He hurries down the hall, leaving his bag by the front door of their apartment before chasing after her. She’s roaming around on the third floor balcony when he finally makes it through the door and he curses when he sees her stumble.

She’s laughing and spinning around when he finally reaches her, her arms spread out around her. Clarke stumbles again and Bellamy is lunging forward to catch her.

“ **Have you lost your damn mind?!** ” he practically yells at her as he wraps his arms around her, stopping her in place.

Her back is pressed against his chest, his warmth seeping into her bones as her runs his hands up and down her bare arms. She lets out a broken laugh that sounds more like a sob. Bellamy can feel her shudder.

Clarke sighs as she presses back against him, tossing her head to the side and into his shoulder. Bellamy had been mad, but the way she just molds against him, the sounds of her breathing him in, makes his anger rush out of him.

He holds her there, waiting for her explanation. Bellamy almost isn’t sure she’s going to give him one. When she finally speaks, her voice small,  _shaky_.

“I just wanted some fresh air.”

Bellamy turns her around, his arms bracing both of her shoulders. Looking down at her, he can see the redness of her eyes, the puffiness of her cheeks. She stares up at him for a few moments before collapsing into his chest. Bellamy can smell liquor as he wraps his arms around her, pressing her into his chest. 

They stay like that for a few moments, Clarke huddled into Bellamy, her arms inside his sweater and around his waist. Eventually Bellamy pulls away to tuck Clarke into his side. He guides her back into their apartment before tucking her into bed.

Bellamy is about to leave, bending down to press a light kiss to her forehead. He pulls away, but is stopped by a small hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Please, stay.”

He does, tucking himself behind her, staying on top of her comforter.

Bellamy thought she was asleep until she spoke, a small whisper floating around the room—“I miss him.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing there’s nothing he  _could_ say. He wraps his arms firmly around her waist, bringing her back against his chest for the second time that night. This time, she finally falls into a fitful sleep, one that has her waking up every few hours. She snuggles back into Bellamy every time.


	30. 33. "please don't do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more angst sorry, i'll try to write some fluff next!
> 
> alSO i had a few people ask about this, so i made a post putting these into _semi-order_ , which i am v apprehensive about because honestly i only have sOME idea as to what goes where... but if you are interested the post is [here](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com/post/114868716887), but if you are happy with the drabbles the way they are in whatever order you wish the imagine them, then that is pERFECTLY FINE with me (and also encouraged!) :))

Clarke is trying to shove the last few boxes into the back of her car when she hears the footsteps behind her. She squeezes her eyes shut, letting out a sharp breath, as though she can will him away with her mind alone. Clarke ignores him, avoiding his eyes and making a point not to touch him when he lifts up one of her boxes and hands it to her. Once the boxes are all crammed into her little car, Clarke has no other choice but to turn around.

She already knew it was him, but it doesn’t hurt any less when she finally sees him. Bellamy is wearing a big black coat, his hands shoved into the pockets. He’s looking right at her, his big, brown eyes boring into hers, as though he’s trying to will her to stay with his mind alone. He walks towards her, his arms reaching out to grab her when Clarke puts her hands up in front of her before stepping back. Bellamy stops in his tracks, putting his hands at his sides in surrender.

She’s turning around towards her car when he finally speaks.

“ **Please don’t do this.** ”

Clarke turns around to look at him. She can’t stand the pain written across his face, the  _heartache_. His eyes are shining with tears she’s hoping he won’t shed.

“Bellamy, we broke up. I think it would be best if I didn’t live here anymore, for all  _three_  of us. I didn’t think you’d want me sticking around anyway,” Clarke tries to keep her voice from shaking, to keep the emotion out. She plays with the soft material of her scarf, digging her fingers into it and tugging on the fabric.

She feels Bellamy walk towards her. She wants to turn and run in the other direction but she doesn’t, she needs to face him if she’s ever going to actually leave. His hand reaches up to cup her jaw, pressing up on her chin to level her eyes to his. He doesn’t waver when he speaks, “Princess, I’ll always wants you around.”

Clarke almost thinks he’s going to kiss her, watching the way his eyes dart from her eyes to her lips. But he doesn’t—pulling her into a hug, whispering into her ear how much he wants her to stay, that her home is here with them, here with  _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com) :))


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